


Badassness and the Sincerity of Baked Goods

by fabfemmeboy



Series: Sincere Baked Goods [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 18:16:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13036719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabfemmeboy/pseuds/fabfemmeboy
Summary: He was trying to do something good. It wasn't his fault he always ended up screwing the emotional, vulnerable, and lonely.





	Badassness and the Sincerity of Baked Goods

Kurt didn't notice the doorbell on the first ring. He wasn't sure how many he missed, because Puck said "like three hundred," but Kurt figured that was probably an exaggeration. All he knew was, when he finally dragged himself off the couch and to the front door, Puck was standing there with a stack of food containers. "What?" Kurt asked, trying to find the energy to express his annoyance in an appropriately-biting tone.

"Here." He thrust the containers in Kurt's general direction. When Kurt raised an eyebrow skeptically, he added, "My mom's Jewish. She thinks you fix everything with food."

"Did you really drive all the way over here at 11 at night to bring me casseroles?" Kurt asked.

"Are you gonna take them or not?"

"Bring them in here," Kurt instructed. His hands had taken on an unsteadiness in the past couple days that he couldn't explain but didn't care enough to get checked out. Probably just nerves, he concluded. Maybe from being tired. Either way, he didn't feel like trying to carry what looked like several heavy corningware dishes and a couple gladware containers. He turned and walked to the kitchen, Puck following behind. 

Finn was right, Puck concluded - the house wasn't that big, but mostly it just had an awesome giant tv. It wasn't all fancy like he would've thought from Kurt, anyway. The kitchen looked about like his, only not as clean; his mom was kind of a freak who liked scrubbing the floor when she was disappointed in him. That happened a lot.

"What is it, anyway?" Kurt asked as he moved around items in the half-empty fridge to make more room close together.

"I dunno, some casserole thing my mom makes with noodles and soup and tuna. Baked ziti but without too much cheese 'cause you whine about that shit more than Santana. White chili. Rice salad that's pretty good. And cupcakes."

"Cupcakes?" Kurt repeated dubiously.

"Yeah." Puck shrugged. "I used the good stuff in them, so don't eat 'em all at once." When Kurt blinked, clearly not understanding, he added, "If it were my mom I'd be going crazy, and you look like you're about to keel over or something. Should relax a little or whatever." Kurt blinked again, then burst into laughter so sudden it caught Puck off-guard. " _What_?" he asked.

"You...you brought me pot brownies. Really?"

"Cupcakes," Puck corrected. "Why's that funny?"

"You thought that would help?" Kurt laughed. He wasn't sure why he found it hysterical.

"It'll help more than those stupid prayer circles everyone else is doing," he replied defensively. "Look, man, if you don't want 'em, I'll eat 'em. They're pretty good."

It hit him suddenly that, to Puck, this was helping. It wasn't some weird joke he wasn't privy to, Puck wasn't trying to fuck with him, he wasn't going to use the cupcakes to knock Kurt out before driving him out on a dark country road and beating the crap out of him. The pot cupcakes were sincere.

"Thank you," he said, laughter slowing. "It's sweet that you brought me drug-laced baked goods." There was a teasing note in his voice he wouldn't normally attempt on Puck.

"Besides, the sugar coma's gotta help, right?"

He didn't realize what he'd said until after Kurt looked like he'd been punched. "Thank you for the food, Puck - it's late you should go," Kurt replied tensely, his voice wavering.

"Shit. Dude, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Please, just leave." Kurt turned away, hands bracing on the edge of the sink. Even though everyone at school had seen him in various stages of crying, he wasn't going to do this. Puck was standing in his kitchen and the house was empty and everything in him wanted to snap, but he wasn't about to do that. For one thing, at least at school Puck couldn't get away with kicking his ass anymore. Here, with not another soul in the building, there was no guarantee this wouldn't all be used against him in some way or another.

"I didn't think about-..."

" _Please_ ," Kurt asked again in a desperate whisper through clenched teeth.

He couldn't leave. He should, he knew, and it wasn't like he felt some kind of obligation to the guy - he didn't even really like him - but...it was like walking out on his little sister or something. Or being mean to Brittany. You didn't mess with people that helpless and pathetic. Dweebs, sure - Jacob ben Israel, hell yeah. But that was different.

"Rachel's wrong about all this shit," he offered finally.

Kurt's shoulders stiffened. "What?" he rasped.

"Jews don't pray for stuff to happen - people getting better or shit. She's just as bad as the Jesus-freaks, but she thinks singing Barbra makes her Moses or something."

Kurt turned his head slowly to look at Puck, not sure where the hell that had come from or why. "Really."

"Yeah. I thought we did, y'know, 'cause my mom's not like a great Jew or anything - she mostly just gets the passive aggressive thing and whines about me dating gentiles. But I went to temple with my Nana and she said it doesn't work like that."

"So what do Jews pray for?" Kurt asked, the disdain and disinterest obvious in his voice. Maybe if he let Puck say whatever the hell he wanted to say, the guy would leave.

"Hell if I know," he shrugged. "Nana said something about it being to bring us closer to god or whatever, but even I think that's bullshit."

"Took the words right out of my mouth," Kurt replied dryly.

There was a long silence before Puck asked, "How's he doing?"

"He's awake now, sort of, but he's not..." Kurt looked upwards towards the flickering light above the sink and tried to find words to convey the depth of how bad it was. 

"Damage and crap?"

"Yes," Kurt's voice was quiet, edgy. "'Damage and crap.'"

"I'm sorry. That really sucks."

As much as the snarky defense mechanism wanted to take over and he wanted to continue to mock Puck's wholly inadequate descriptions, he couldn't. The words stopped in his throat and his breath quickened, got shallower. No. He was not going to cry again tonight. He was not going to stand here in his kitchen and sob in front of Noah fucking Puckerman. He would sooner eat the entire tin of cupcakes.

Puck's hand on his shoulder was clumsy and kind of heavy, like they both knew how awkward this was, and it made Kurt's grip on the sink tighten. He wanted to tell Puck to leave him the hell alone, to just go away, but he couldn't.

As Puck shifted, his arm grazed Kurt's and it send shivers down the shorter boy's spine. "You should...you should go," Kurt said quietly.

Puck stepped back awkwardly and started towards the door. As he glanced back, he saw Kurt leaning against the kitchen counter, arms wrapped tightly around himself. "Where's Finn?"

Kurt blinked. "How would I know?"

"Isn't he here?"

"No."

"Ms. Hudson?"

"Nope."

"Mercedes or someone?"

"What do you care?" Kurt asked. "When you asked about Finn, I figured you wanted to say hello, that now that you're back to football season and neither of you is dating Quinn you were back to being best friends. Brief dating period aside, you don't even like Mercedes."

"It's just you here?" Kurt gave him a 'no shit' look, and Puck frowned. "Why are you here, then?"

"The hospital makes me leave at 10."

"Yeah but-"

"What do you care?" Kurt asked again.

He didn't have an answer to that one. He didn't know. He didn't really like Kurt, and even if Finn was his brother and Finn was also Kurt's brother that didn't mean they were related or something. "Quiet houses just suck," he offered. When Kurt looked at him curiously, Puck replied, "My mom's a nurse, and my sister goes to bed early 'cause she's eight."

"Oh," Kurt replied quietly. It was still different, if only because Puck's mom would come home at some point when her shift was over, but he lacked the motivation to point that out.

"Turn on the tv or something," Puck said, walking towards the living room. 

"I didn't say you could stay," Kurt pointed out.

"Are you telling me I can't?" Puck asked matter-of-factly. When Kurt didn't respond, he toed off his sneakers and sat on the couch. Finn had been right - this was a damn nice set-up. Seeing the way Kurt fussily attempted to straighten the kitchen before retiring to the living room, Puck called, "And bring the cupcakes. You've gotta loosen up, dude. Heart attacks at 40-something are bad enough, but at 16 they're just freaking pathetic."

"Why, Puck, I hardly know what to say to such a gentleman," Kurt replied sarcastically, but he brought the tupperware and a stack of paper napkins. He perched on the end of the couch - god was the guy prissy, Puck thought. Even too exhausted to stand, the guy was prissy. 

Kurt regarded the cupcakes suspiciously. "How...much of a...?" he started to ask.

"Not enough to get you hallucinating or thinking you can fly or whatever. More like a couple beers, only better."

"I don't have such a great track record with-"

"Yeah, I heard," Puck grinned wickedly. "Too bad for Ms. Pillsbury, huh?" Kurt didn't find him so amusing. "It doesn't make you hurl, I promise."

"Why should I believe you, anyway?"

"Why not?"

"You spent a year and a half torturing me every morning before school and driving past my house on weekends to throw things at me or spraypaint obscene pictures on the house," Kurt replied shortly.

"So did Finn, you trust him."

"Finn's different," Kurt replied. He didn't have the energy to add that he didn't trust Finn as much as he used to - between the homophobic comments and the sudden interest in Jesus, what had once been obsessive love for the quarterback had turned quickly into a wary quasi-fraternal relationship that had more downs than ups these days.

Puck snorted, and it occurred to Kurt that Puck probably got that comment a lot. "Not that different."

"Yeah, maybe," he allowed. He tentatively pinched off a bit of the cupcake and popped it into his mouth and waited expectantly.

"You think tentacles are gonna sprout or something?" Puck teased.

"What?"

"You look like you think a giant wave of munchies is gonna hit the second it gets past your tongue. Relax, dude. It's not a speedball or something, it's not gonna kill you. In some countries doctors actually prescribe it for anxiety and stuff."

"I know that," Kurt replied defensively. He did. At the same time, his experimental streak extended only to fashion and he couldn't push down the feeling that if something happened to his father he wouldn't be able to rush over to the hospital like this. 

But he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept, and the house was too quiet, and his chest was so tight he felt like he couldn't breathe, and his brain wouldn't slow down. He couldn't stop thinking about a thousand different questions and all the outcomes that hinged on the answers. Drawing in a deep breath, he ate the rest of the cupcake; he would worry about calories later.

"Turn on the tv or something. Otherwise we've gotta pretend to talk about shit," Puck instructed him. Kurt handed over the remote as he suspected anything he could select would result in the word 'gay' being tossed around in the more literal sense of the word. He stopped on some dubbed Japanese game show with people doing ridiculous physical stunts. A lot of prat-falls. Kurt didn't understand the appeal, but he wasn't really watching.

"Don't you have to get home?" Kurt asked at some point. 

"Whatever," Puck shrugged. "Sarah's got some dance practice thing in the morning so she's staying with a friend to get a ride, and I'd leave for school before Mom gets home anyway." But then, being Puck, he couldn't leave it on a note that conveyed anything but badassness. "And she took the Puck-mobile, something about the headlights working better, so I'm stuck with her freakin' Volvo. How lame is that?"

Maybe Puck did get it, Kurt allowed. At least, he got this part - not the thing about the Volvo, but being home himself all night. And he, of everyone at school, got knowing what it felt like to have a parent and then...not. Again, it was different - there were things Puck would never be able to understand. Mostly the worry - the obsessive, all-consuming feeling like a dark cloud was lurking just overhead-

"You're not gonna start crying again, are you?" Puck asked with a withering sideways glance.

"Not hardly," Kurt replied dryly. "I'm fantastic."

"Bullshit." He slid closer to the center of the couch and put his hand on Kurt's shoulder, then pulled it away. "Sorry."

"For what?"

"I dunno, you're not touchy or whatever."

"It's- it's okay," Kurt said quietly. If anything, he was used to all the guys at school being afraid to touch him, freaked out they would catch homo. Associating Puck's hand on his shoulder with being tossed in a dumpster didn't make it any easier. But this was...different. Kind of nice, actually.

He missed it. Not like his father was a cuddly man or anything, but a hand on the shoulder, a hug when things were really bad-...the lack of physical comfort was starting to drive him a little crazy. Holding a hand that could squeeze his back had seemed like a monumental improvement at the time, but now it was still so far from what he needed.

That sounded weird, he knew vaguely, and kind of creepy if he thought about it too hard. But he knew what he meant, and he wasn't going to be trying to explain it to anyone else.

"Look, I dunno how this talking thing works or whatever. Mostly when I'm pissed off I just go hit things or torture dweebs until they feel worse than I do. But if you wanna...say something, I'm not gonna go repeating it around to anyone."

Puck's awkward attempt at sentimentality was kind of sweet, Kurt concluded. "I'm fine."

"Dude, you've said that so many times it doesn't even sound like a word."

He wasn't sure why Puck's accusation cut so deeply. "What else is there to say?" he asked quietly feeling his throat start to close up and his voice start to betray him. "I realize I'm considered by most to be barely better than a girl in most respects, but I prefer not to launch into longwinded stories about everything in my life that's become a disappointment any more often than strictly necessary."

The wall was back up, and Puck could see it. He had the same voice he got in glee club, which wasn't at all how Kurt sounded in his living room five minutes earlier. Puck just shrugged and let it go.

Kurt didn't. He let out a deep sigh with all the sorrow of someone who knew the world was ending. "What good would it do anyway? What's wrong can't be fixed with drug-infused cupcakes."

"I know," Puck replied. "But when you can't fix it...why not at least feel better?"

The appeal of his hedonistic philosophy wasn't lost on Kurt, but he found the ability to practice it unlikely. For one thing, he had way too much to do. For another, while he felt a little less on edge, he had the hunch he would need to down the entire box of cupcakes to feel the way he wanted to. And then what? It wouldn't change anything.

"What?" Puck asked.

"Easy for you to say - you want to feel better, you call up Santana or one of the few hundred lonely housewives in this town," Kurt threw out there to deflect the conversation away from himself.

"It works for me," Puck replied easily.

"So I hear," Kurt said dryly. "How's Quinn, by the way?"

"Hey, she's the one who ended it." Kurt looked indifferent, which made Puck stew. He was sick of everyone acting like he was the bad guy -  _she_  was the one who ended it.  _She_  was the one who gave up Beth when he wanted to man up and be there for his kid. Hell,  _she_  was the one who came to him when she felt fat because  _she_  was the one who wanted to make sure she wasn't less attractive than Santana. He was a willing participant - some would say more than willing - but he was sick of people giving him a bum rap for all that shit.

He wasn't as bad a guy as people gave him credit for. Bad _ass_ , fuck yeah, but a dude could be decent and still badass, right? James Bond saved the world, and that was a good thing to do, and he was kind of the original badass. 

"Whatcha want, anyway?" Puck asked.

"What?" Kurt looked confused.

"You said I can call up Santana - so you wanna fix it with sex. So whatcha want?"

He laughed derisively. "Right."

"What?"

"Look, I appreciate you showing up at my house at almost midnight with a variety of food, only some of which carries a legal penalty. But nothing I say here would end well, and I don't have the energy to deal with your paranoid freakout. Besides - you're hardly my type."

"I'm everyone's type," Puck replied firmly.

"Not really."

"I'm Puckzilla."

"You're the jerk who tortured me for a year and ruined more than a few jackets. While some gay guys have the straight-bully fantasy, I'm not among them."

"I don't do that anymore." When Kurt snorted, Puck added, "I don't. If you don't wanna believe that, that's your problem." Kurt seemed unconvinced.

For Puck, nothing was a better motivator than rebellion. If someone told him he couldn't do something, he was the kid whose first response was to do it to prove the person wrong. So at Kurt's repeated nonverbal assertions that he couldn't be a good guy...

When Puck leaned in and kissed him, Kurt froze. This was a product of sleep deprivation, or a hallucinatory byproduct of the cupcakes, or something strange and freudian, but it was absolutely not really happening.

Except for the part where he could feel Puck's hands - one on his shoulder, one resting at the crease of his thigh - and he could taste what he thought was a burger on Puck's lips. It wasn't at all like kissing Brittany, and not just because this got far more reaction; Puck was insistent when he kissed, demanding. Kurt felt like it should make him want to push the guy away, but instead it made him kind of want to just give in and let whatever would happen, happen.

For that he would blame the baked goods.

Puck sat back after a minute and asked casually, "Whatcha want, anyway?" The smirk that Kurt had never in his life found attractive was starting to seriously get to him in a way that he found utterly confusing. "Blowjob or something?"

"Like you'd know anything about that," Kurt replied. He was out of breath but didn't want to show it, trying to pull himself into the mold of a put-together arrogant queen who didn't care.

"Are you doubting my skills?" Puck asked. He sounded...offended? No, that didn't make sense - the guy was avowedly Not Freaking Gay, why would he want to brag about having dick-sucking skills?

"What skills would those be?" Kurt asked dryly.

Puck leaned in and kissed him again, pinning him back against the armrest of the couch, then reached down to rub Kurt's crotch through his pants.

He knew dicks, a little - his own, at least, and there had been a couple circle-jerks when he was about 12, until he realized they were totally gay and he could get girls to jerk him off instead. But the mechanics of gay dick worked the same, right? Stroking was good, something warm and wet was better. Pressure was good unless it was too much pressure. 

Kurt's soft hand found its way tentatively to his bicep. Maybe he didn't know what the hell he was doing either. Puck wasn't sure if that made things more awkward or less.

He unfastened Kurt's pants, glad they weren't one of the ridiculous pair with the thousand zippers or something, and reached in. The angle was awkward, and it took him a couple tries to get his hand below Kurt's underwear instead of on top of it, but the moan Kurt let out when Puck's hand made flesh contact was kinda hot.

Not that he was gay or anything. Kurt just sounded like a girl, that was all.

He pumped Kurt's dick slowly, wishing the guy didn't wear such tight pants or he'd have more room. It felt strange in his hand - veinier than his own and with a definite curve. Poor guy didn't have anyone to fuck, he was stuck with just his hand. 

He thought that was what caused it, anyway. Of course, Quinn was the one who said it, and she also told Finn that she got pregnant through two layers of clothing in a hot tub, so he wasn't sure he believed her.

Kurt let out a breathy whimper as Puck pulled his hand away. His eyes were still screwed shut, and Puck couldn't help but think that the guy looked like he was trying to shut something out. As long as it wasn't him, he didn't care. Actually, he mostly just cared if Kurt was fantasizing about Finn instead of him. Not like he was into Kurt or anything, but he was sick of being the consolation prize. Badass guys were supposed to be the first pick, not the second.

He pulled Kurt's pants down - more like peeled them - over his thighs, and Kurt tried to kick them down awkwardly. Puck was just glad his foot didn't hit anything important. Kurt drew in a deep breath, eyes still shut, and lifted his hips to slide down his underwear.

Puck stared. Dude - Hummel was  _hung_. Not like porno-flick hung or anything, but hung is anything bigger than you, right? And little-Puckzilla wasn't small.  
'  
Kurt so wasn't this big when he was on the football team, Puck decided. He wasn't looking or anything, but he'd seen it a couple times. It was a locker room. And there was the time that Azimio and Pendergast made a bet about whether Kurt actually had balls, but they were both too chickenshit to look so they could find out who won, so finally Puck had to confirm. He hadn't stared or anything, but he felt like he would've noticed this.

When Puck didn't move back in to kiss or touch him, Kurt had a bad feeling about this. It meant Puck must have finally realized once again that Kurt was a guy, and a gay guy at that, and had a moment of extreme gay-panic as he realized he was on a couch with a guy whose pants were off and whose cock was hard. He just hoped Puck wasn't looking for a blunt object with which to kill him - that would be a horribly embarrassing way to die. His eyes snapped open and he was surprised to see Puck staring at him. "I'm sorry - you can go if you- it's my fault-"

"Dude." Puck had a grave look on his face. "There's no way I can fit that thing in my mouth. I was all gung-ho or whatever, figured why not, you deserve it after this week, but...there's no way man."

There was a moment of awkward silence before Kurt burst into laughter. Not low, sarcastic laughter, either - high-pitched, almost giggly laughter at the absurdity of the situation. The one and only time he had ever been complimented by Noah Puckerman. He assumed it was complimentary, anyway. From someone who prided himself on being the resident sex object, Kurt figured it was probably high praise. 

"It's okay," he assured Puck. Even just laughing at this point felt good enough that, even if he didn't get sex out of the deal, it wasn't a total loss. 

"Really?" He seemed...disappointed? No, Kurt concluded. That couldn't be it. Probably just his ego shot. Puck was certainly more competitive than most people gave him credit for, probably because he wasn't competitive about the things a person was meant to be able to compete over - grades, solos, football stats - and instead tended to focus on how many girls he could get to do what with. 

Puck was halfway cute when he was...whatever this was. It verged on pouting but with a little sulkier quality to it. 

Kurt leaned in to kiss him hesitantly. He hoped the compliment hadn't just been Puck's way of saying "I can't do this" but nicer. Probably not, he reasoned, because Puck didn't do nice. Puck did honest, and honest was rarely nice. 

Puck was about to protest that Kurt kissed like a girl, but he realized that - for his purposes - that was a distinct advantage. Then Kurt reached down to fumble with his jeans and Puck decided protesting was highly overrated.

Until Kurt laughed.

"Hey - not cool!" Puck said, pulling away. "You don't laugh when you've got your hands down a guy's pants!"

"I'm sorry," Kurt said sincerely but with a grin on his face Puck didn't like. "I just always expected there would be a mohawk there."

"Why?" He bit back his original retort that guys who waxed or shaved were definitely gay.

"I don't know, I just did." Kurt was glad when Puck didn't follow up with a question about how often Kurt had pictured what his pubic hair looked like. It wasn't as though he had recurring and intense sexual fantasies about Puck, it was just something he'd thought at one point and it had never been able to get out of his head.

After all, the mohawk was mojo. Everyone knew that.

He began to reach back down into Puck's jeans, then paused and looked into his eyes for permission to continue. Puck's raised eyebrow in response was best translated as 'no shit.' Kurt began to stroke slowly, and the look on his face told him he was doing something right.

Kurt's hands were soft, Puck registered, and he liked that. And unlike Santana with her bitch-claw nails, he didn't end up scratching the sensitive flesh. But what really got him, he realized, was Kurt's leaking erection. Not like he was turned on by dick or something homo like that, but the fact that Kurt was getting off on getting him off was kinda hot. Not like Quinn or most of the cougars in town who got all desperate in needing approval, or Santana who was going through the motions, or Brittany whose eyes looked even more vacant during sex somehow in a way that made him feel kinda creepy. Kurt was seriously turned on by stroking his dick.

Well, duh, he thought. The dude was gay. Gay dudes probably liked shit like that.

Puck stood and stepped out of his jeans, glad for a lack of underwear to slow him down, and moved back onto the couch. Kurt leaned forward, kissing him hard like he was trying to take charge but didn't really know if it was something he was meant to be allowed to do. Why not? Puck figured. After all, he'd fucked everyone from Quinn, who practically laid there the whole time, to Santana who never let him have the upper hand, to Ms. Calloway over on Meadowbrook Court who practically wanted to tie him to the bed. If Kurt wanted to shove him back against the couch and make out with him, what did he care?

Just as long as Kurt didn't get any crazy ideas about that dick going up his ass. 

He got the feeling there wasn't any danger of that when Kurt guided Puck's hand onto his buttcheek. Puck quirked an eyebrow but went with it - as long as Kurt kept stroking his cock like that, he wasn't going to protest. 

Then he discovered something kind of...weird was the only word he could come up with. If his hand moved at all on Kurt's ass, the guy moaned. Like, when he kinda squeezed it, sort of? Moan. When he shifted because Kurt's dick was digging into his hip in a way that was uncomfortable, and the shifting made his hand move? Moan. When he got curious and deliberately moved his hand to cup the cheek and let his thumb kind of brush the top of the crack? A moan and Kurt pressing hard against his leg while he stroked faster.

It occurred to him suddenly that Kurt was  _gay_. Like,  _really_  gay. As in, might actually  _want_  to be the girl part in all of this. And even though Puck wasn't really an ass kind of guy and a really gross experience with anal sex once had kind of put him off it for awhile (note to self: when she mentions how great lunch at that Indian restaurant was, stay clear for a few days), he was kind of intrigued by Kurt's reaction to it all.

He smirked against Kurt's lips as he shifted his hand - another moan - to allow the fingertips to trail between the cheeks. His middle finger just barely grazed the edge of something puckered, which served as a convenient guidepost so he wouldn't have to look too hard, and he pressed the finger forward. The reaction was what he expected and more - Kurt gasped, and the hand that was stroking Puck's dick gave an involuntary quick jerk downwards that elicited a groan from the mastermind behind the whole maneuver. 

"You like that?" Puck asked in a tone that was part teasing and part genuine, but Kurt couldn't untangle which was which as Puck's finger pressed in slowly.

"Yes," Kurt whispered against Puck's chin. He more than liked it.

At how tightly the muscles clenched around his finger, he couldn't even imagine how tight it would be around his dick. And as Kurt pressed back, as though trying to get more finger inside him- fuck gay, that shit was hot. Someone wanting to be fucked by him was always hot.

He pushed his finger in as far as he could get it, which wasn't very, and Kurt kissed him with such fervor that it seemed like the guy was trying to eat his face off or something. He tried a second finger and Kurt drew in a sharp breath; his fingers stilled and, after a moment, he felt Kurt slowly press himself back onto them. Before he knew it, both fingers were completely inside.

Okay, so he had no idea what he was doing. But sex was supposed to feel good - otherwise what was the point, right? And he certainly knew how to get off while making sure the person he was screwing felt out-fucking-standing. The female population of Lima could attest to that firsthand. So even if he didn't really know much about any of this gay stuff, and the things Kurt seemed to like best weren't things he ever would've picked, he was like a sex savant. Better - a sex god. Ominpotent and...that other one that was about knowing what people were thinking. 

"Wait," Kurt whispered. "Lube...downstairs. And condoms."

"Don't worry about it," Puck replied. "I shoot blanks now."

Kurt stared at him for a moment, then replied dryly, "I lack the particular internal organs necessary to get pregnant, though I appreciate your concern. I do not, however, feel the need to be exposed to every sex partner you  _or_  Santana have ever had. You two would be the Gaetan Dugas of any infectious disease that ever hit Lima."

Puck had no idea who that gay tan guy was, and he felt like Kurt had meant it as an insult, but instead he just sat back with an expectant look and said "So go get them."

Kurt slid off Puck's lap slowly and walked as quickly as he could to his room. His hard dick bouncing on the way down the stairs felt strange in an almost-good-but-not-quite way. More like an illicit way, like it meant he must be doing something he probably shouldn't. He shoved that thought aside and opened the vanity drawer to retrieve the condoms from the organizing basket where they had been since the trip to Pride in Columbus over the summer. After rifling through the endtable beside his bed to retrieve the bottle of condom-safe lube, he thundered up the stairs and back to the living room.

Puck was lying stretched out on the couch, completely naked, left arm behind his head while he idly stroked himself with the right.

Even though Puck was so not his usual type, Kurt was sure he had never seen anything hotter in his entire life. When Puck noticed him standing a few feet away and kind of gawking, he smirked and asked, "So you want me to fuck you?"

Kurt let out a kind of half-whimper before replying "Yes." To be honest, he was surprised it was that eloquent - 'uhhh' was the first thing that had come to his mind.

Unfortunately, finding a position that worked was more difficult than either of them expected. 

Puck always thought buttfucking was best done from behind, and since Kurt didn't have any practical experience to rebut the claim, he agreed. Kurt knelt on the rug, staring at the short carpet fibers beneath him, and waited nervously. Puck grasped his hips commandingly and pressed in-

Oh  _God_  it hurt!

He tried to tell Puck to hold on, but his brain couldn't pluck words out of the swirling panic, and how was Puck supposed to know to stop if he couldn't say so? He kind of frantically waved his right arm, making almost a cutting motion in the air.

"What?"

"Please...doesn't-...hurts to-"

Puck immediately pulled back and settled on his haunches as Kurt turned to face him, face red, breathing hard. "I'm sorry," Puck said in the most sincere voice Kurt had ever heard from him.

Kurt swallowed, starting to regain his ability to breathe. "I'm okay. I think it was too fast, and when I couldn't say anything I panicked."

"So try it forwards," Puck suggested.

Kurt was slightly surprised, since it felt more intimate that way - to him at least - but he didn't question it. He laid on his back-

...and Puck couldn't find the hole.

It wasn't that hard, he swore, it was kind of right there behind the balls and what the hell was Puck's problem? But at any rate, that got awkward really quickly.

Puck laid on his back on the rug, staring up at the ceiling. This wasn't working, and now he was hard as fuck and horny as hell. He was surprised when a few seconds later, he felt Kurt's mouth close over the head of his condom-covered dick. He groaned and exhibited what little self-control he had by not trying to hold Kurt's head in place by his hair. 

A few seconds later, the mouth was gone and he- well, he would never admit to whining, but it might have sounded like that. He looked down to see Kurt practically slithering up his body until he was on his knees, straddling Puck's hips. Drawing in a deep breath, Kurt reached back to grasp Puck's shaft securely and began to lower himself carefully.

Puck had never really had a thing for riding positions - he didn't dislike them, but it was a thing Santana did when she wanted to prove she was the one running the show - but the look of nervous self-control on Kurt's face was kind of entrancing. Watching his dick disappear slowly, seemingly millimeter by millimeter, into Kurt's ass was just fucking  _hot_ , too, like when a girl who actually knows what she's doing starts a deepthroat really slow, with that constant eye contact. Kurt's eyes were closed, and he winced for a second as the thick cockhead popped beyond the second ring with a sudden burn, but it was still hot as hell.

Slowly, almost agonizingly, Kurt lowered himself, to the point where Puck was reciting Metallica lyrics to keep from thrusting upwards because come  _on_  already. He opened his eyes and gave Puck this little smile that seemed to scream "Look - I did it?"and Puck was freaking gone. He did his best to stay slow as he thrust up against Kurt's ass, but it was tight and he'd been hard without coming for way too long already. Kurt moaned loudly, back arching as Puck buried his dick as deep as he could.

He wasn't expecting it to feel this good. He knew from basic teenage self-experimentation that he was a bottom, that he liked the feeling of his own fingers there, but he hadn't really had any opportunity to try anything else. And this - feeling so full he thought might explode, but at the same time trying desperately to grind down further and harder, to force Puck's dick further up into him...it was more than anything he'd been able to imagine. 

The primalness of Puck's movements went against everything he'd ever thought he would find hot and tapped into something unexpected. The way the fingers dug into his hips, the quick thrusts, the almost animalistic grunting and groaning, made him feel...well, like a Britney Spears video. It sounded ridiculous, but that kind of raw, unbridled, sensuality...He began to jerk himself off clumsily in time to Puck's thrusts.

When he came, he seriously thought he might die from the intensity. How in the hell he could go back to jerking off after knowing this existed, he had no idea. Puck kept going for a few more minutes, and the low growl in the back of his throat made Kurt shiver.

As first times went, physically speaking, it hadn't been remotely bad.

Kurt didn't plan on starting to sob as soon as it was over.

Not like he'd been  _planning_  on crying all week, but still. He didn't know why it happened. One minute he was fine - great, even - and the next it was like everything had crumbled around him.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be - his first kiss? His first everything? It was supposed to be with a cute guy he had pined over and gone on a date with. Ideally someone gay who wouldn't freak out over everything and deny it all the next day. He wasn't saying some wedding-night fantasy or anything, he wasn't a girl, but someone he actually  _liked_  would have been preferable. It was  _not_  supposed to be a pity-fuck with Noah Puckerman (he thought in terms of the guy's full name to avoid unfortunate rhyming) in an empty house while his father was in the hospital. He was supposed to want it, and not just like wanting to stop feeling pain for awhile. He wasn't supposed to be so exhausted he could barely remember his own name with a neck that ached from literally trying to hold his head up all week.

Nothing was like it was supposed to be anymore.

"Hey-" Puck started to ask.

"You should go," Kurt whispered, drawing his knees up to his chest.

"Kurt-"

"Please." He looked up just long enough to show he was serious, then went back to staring at the knotted wood mark on the armrest of the couch.

If Kurt's defenses were down, Puck's were fully up. "Fine, dude, whatever." He jammed his legs into his jeans and pulled his jacket over his bare torso. Leaning down, he snagged his tshirt and clutched it in his fist as he strode out to his car so he could drive back to his own empty house.

When would he learn this shit never ended well?

What was the point of trying to be a decent guy if it meant everyone just saw you as more of an ass anyway? 

He turned the opposite way from his route home. The night was still young and badasses didn't hang out in empty houses. They found shit to do.

 


End file.
